This will all be over tonight,

                         "I want to go home," her voice whimpers as she attempts to die...
                               This is where we can all be together tonight.

                                              by Mark William Darus

                              "you don't understand." she cries, tiny figure leaning over a huge bridge explaining. Rusted metal backgrounds slender human form in contrast. An ore freighter snorts a blasts below, her face turns white like a sky in January.

                              "Don't you understand?" Looking so small to me , yet hugely grand with her emotional display.

                                Tugged and dragged like sludge at the bottom of a shallow pond. I, like a moth to killing flame, go to her. Approach her as I watch her shift unceasingly like some Olga Corbit of the damned. "How can I help?" I ask.

                           "What makes you think you can stop me?" her voice splashes against car horns, ore freighters and the phucking general idiots of Cleveland Ohio.;;;\

                           "I don't think anything will make a difference to you,." My stance changes, sickly more for my Nikons view than anything else. Ready for to capture her face as her last foot leaves iron form as her body begins to fall.

                          She calmly looks at me. Her peaceful smile greets me. She is ready for death.

                         "Puh-lease, is there nothing I can say to hold you to last a bit longer with us?" I gave my best. Every encounters with Suicide-Pilots always grant different results. You have to still try, toss your arse out there.

                           As her left foot parted company, she descended quickly.

                           Idiotically, tossing myself to an iron girder with left arm stretched to catch her. My chest registering pain when slammed into am I-Beam..

                   Her eyes puncturing mine. Smaller and smaller she grows as her fragile body goes from a tall bridge into brighter deaths impact.

                             If my arms were longer...

                             If I hadn't failed yet again.\

                             I am so tired. Why do I see what others dismiss?

                    Her last words to me,  nailing me like Christ to  cross.

                   I reach for her.

                     There's a sunrise rising somewhere.

                       A moonrise taking hold across plains a half world away

                     This will be all over tonight.\


                        She so wants to die and go home.

                      This child of all of us tells me about disgusting abuses she had no control over. How uncles and aunts used and worked toward the death of her soul.   
                       "Mark. Don't you see I want to die? Are you so stupid?"\

                       "Fine. You want to die. I'm going to try though,...


                       "good luck,"

                            my left shoulder hurt on impact.

                          I got better.;..

                                Her last words echoing in me.

                               "This will be all over tonight."


                The teen female rate of suicide has risen huge in the last ten years. Why is this? Is this just in the United States or is it globally?


                    Why so many of our daughters find death more appealing?

                   Compelled by this child's words, I wish to dig into the granite.
]

                         I watch her body get smaller and smaller beneath me as  it falls and sways about as winds greet her. Like a slow motion movie with haphazard frames of motion skipping about.

\
             I remember her face.  I remember what she wanted me to share another nite as her face became smaller and smaller as it fell to the Cuyahoga river.  Her face, so beaming as it plumeted to the darkness.

               Her smile, so triumphant.;\

                    
This will be all over tonight.
\
Mark William Darus 05052013




                


                



                       


                        

                             

Happy May Day everyone!

                                             Happy May Day everyone!
                                                by Mark William Darus

                 That last entry, (As You See Me Naked), was both a horror and pleasure to write.

            Horror in regards to a woman, though suggesting that men  protect themselves, knowingly committing an act of possible murder when idiot males decline it.

          Pleasure from letting people know quite simply: if you Pay to Play, you might pay more than you think.

           When I write about others experiences, I try to express my words from the vibes I get from them telling it. I've gotten more than a few negative reviews and some that were very nice. Some believe I should have called the police on this woman, to which I told them I couldn't. I'm no journalist, yet, there must be a firm level of confidentiality in what I write.

             I was asked the question several times: "but what if he has a wife or girlfriend and infects them?" I guess that goes to guilt and blame.

        Who is more guilty?

       The infected hooker, the boyfriend or husband that pays them to be a sex surrogate?

         I've received a few emails suggesting I am guilty of not trying to stop her. That I am every bit as guilty as she is. I personally don't believe this. Is that not like blaming every living person in a convenient store heist if the hold up guy kills someone and no one tries to stop them?

             If a person were to write that pulling the trigger on a gun could kill someone, are they held the same as those that chose to hold the gun and fire it?

           Sure, some would counter: "But she is knowingly committing murder and you did nothing!"

               Nothing? I did write and post it. Had I run, panting feverishly to the police, how do you think that would have been received? You know, if for no other reason than to show the apathy of law enforcement, I might just try this someday down the road. Think about that for a moment and tell me how how I am wrong when it comes to confidentiality

                 Yet, and based on my beliefs, I think she was honest when she asked them if they wanted to "strap on." I could, and may toss a twist into this and say something like: "Do auto manufacturers say that buying and driving their products could kill or maim family members?" when I post this line on the blog as an entry review.

              Let me say this: The thoughts, stories and beliefs of those shared on my Psychopathy: Another Life are there for a reason. It is the choice of each of you to choose your meaning to each entry as you read it. Is it wrong or right, black or white, evil or not? Well, that depends on your mindset and place at any point in time.

               I am not afraid to write and post what I do. I will not make excuses for my thoughts, though I may attempt comparisons.

               Why do I think the next set of emails I get will ask the question:

                "So, where do you draw the line, Mark? A spouse killing, tax fraud, school bombing?"

                Thinking forward, sometimes in reverse, I'd say: "What line is that exactly? Is there a box you would place me in, as you hold yourself inside,  for me to think out of? To me, there is no box or line. You take all things as they come, individually and treat them as such."

                Have a great May Day, everyone! Find something in yourself to call your own and run with it!

                And to think when I was a kid growing up that May Day was a time when we should fear the USSR. The day Communism would rear its head and take us over!!! This is what we were taught by parents and schools alike.

              I think individuals want peace and harmony.

              I think  most governments wish the same for their  people, children, except my United States anyway. God knows, from an economic stand point, peace does not trade on well on Wall Street.

             Happy May Day and Beautiful Spring to all this world.

(photo credit to Gretchen Phillips)

             Mark William Darus 05012013

             

Balance.

                                      As a writer of such dark human elements.
                                                There must be beauty.

                     I have often found it with their voices and smiles. Amazingly graceful, uplifting and inspirational.


                                  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LveS3tx-6cQ&NR=1&feature=endscreen

MWD04292013
find some peace in your life...

As you see me naked.

                                        As you see me naked.
                                                 I am lethal.
                       The thoughts of Sylvia B. by Mark William Darus

I have no fear taking off my coverings before you. You paid me to do this.

Cash from your pocket flowing like water from a blown pipe, wanting more of me, expecting more of me. Allowing yourself to fall victim as you think yourself the predator.

In slender moments shared, your eyes become flaming beacons toward me, beaming energy, fueling me.

Removing my tank, slowly lifting it over my breasts, you shift your posture uneasily. I watch you as I get hungry.

Painfully slow, I lower my knee length flowered skirt before you. Revealing my shapely thighs and grey panties, I hear your breathing increase. Deeper and deeper you inhale as your chest bulges, your pupils widen to take me further into you mind. Into a fantasy you’ve held most dear, perhaps forever so.

I begin to think of my childhood every once in a while at this point of an encounter.

I remember my father. He was a good man taken way too soon. He was 43 when he died of cancer. He’d make me laugh, cheer me on when I failed at something, show me love.

Then there was mom. Christ, what a bitch she was! She’d probably still be if she hadn’t suffered an unfortunate accident when I was 17. She was in her car when it happened, parked in our driveway in a suburb of Chicago. Her cars electrical system freaked out and sparked a fire. Somehow, her door handles failed as did her power windows. It’s truly amazing how much smoke fast food bags can produce when they pile up in a foot well! Dense smoke quickly filled the cars interior and she died, pleasingly slow as I witnessed it outside the car. Her eyes, panic filled. Mine, smiling as she passed.

Bummer.

About a year after dad died, she dated men that like an old Donna Summer song :loved to love you, baby…

They’d party, she’d drink to get numb and instead of fucking her when she passed out, they’d go after me. I, about 13 then, tried to fight them off, but she loved bad ass biker types who bested me by sheer weight alone. Over powered, they’d thrust their dicks at me any way they could in any hole of mine they could easily get at. The smell of whiskey or bourbon from their mouths as they smash their face into mine, the smell of my mothers Calvin Kleins Obession on their necks and chests. Sweat, salt, semen and the disgusting rank fumes of dense foot odor surrounding me while pinned to whatever, where ever they chose to take me. Thrust after thrust they’d go. My vagina, torn, anus bleeding or sore throat from deeping it. Pain, both physically and mentally.

Anguish.

I remember crying and reporting it for a while and it got me nowhere. I didn’t dress or act like the other kids at school and was often looked at as ‘different’. I was a subdivision at school: I didn’t really fit in anywhere into the mainstream.

I unhook my deep purple bra from the front. You seem to make a ‘gulping’ sound when I do this. So expected, you never disappoint me.

“Get undressed, baby, get ready for me!” I’d give my best airy Amy Grant voice. Like Lemmings, they’d always do as told, happily walk right off the cliff without rational thought.

“Yeah, you look so good, baby! I can’t wait to take you into me!”

I’d drop my panties like a bad habit and stand before you.

“I want you so much!” You stand and walk to me, boner bouncing around, it’s head looking like some tiny albino Darth Vader helmet.

I, sucking in their energy, desire, single-minded drive, smile and say: “baby, want to strap on a rubber?”

Surprising how many of say: “nah, it kills the feeling.”

“Kills the feeling, right, baby. You got it! TAKE ME! ANYWAY YOU WANT IT!” I loved the band Journey.

Kills the feeling. So right you men are. Moms men never covered up. One of them gave me a gift.

Glad you got your ‘feeling’ as I infected you with AIDS!

I’m sure you’ll die faster than I have.

You guys can be so stupid, can’t you?

-Sylvia’s thoughts, my words.

-Mark William Darus 04292013

Authors note: Her name is not Sylvia B. I respect those that wish to remain anonymous. Yet it needed a name, so she agreed to the one I chose. Talking to her was little short of amazing. She was frank with her words, speaking with complete candor while gently describing some fairly horrific events in her life. 

As I wrote this out, a single song played with each word typed. Over and over again I played it. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XD6RdI1QqCg


We sucked down gallons of coffee as we sat at a Denny’s on the Ohio border town of Findlay. I will, at her request, describe her in generic terms. (yeah, like that’s going to be easy for me, right?) She stood about 5’4”, perhaps 110 lbs, light brown just over shoulder length hair. A tragically pretty face with huge glowing blue eyes surrounded by pure white sclera’s. I say tragically because her face looks so innocent and undamaged. She carries herself with what 63% of the male population would describe as a knock-out, kick-ass, oh-so-fuckable body. ( I personally believe the other 37% of men, homosexuals, either overt or covert, may still be attracted by the confidence in her stride and stance. She dressed for our meeting in blue t-shirt and nice fitting jeans with a wide leather belt. No jewelry. I could be wrong on this though. Judging by the waitress, female, she also attracts women.

At her request, we sat in the farthest end of the Denny’s. This was calculated by her and I soon discovered why. At 4:30 AM in the morning, very few complain when someone lights up a Salem 100 and splashes their ashes into an unused water glass. Seriously, how can you not love Denny’s Restaurants? I lit up my L&M and toked in to meet her.

“Trust me, they won’t pitch us aside.” her cool voice stated. More often than not, the workers would do as a Styx song and light up.

I wish to thank her for her honesty and sharing her hearts desire: To give a type of man in this world exactly what they want.

Chechnya: Are you the next Taliban? Sounds like home to me in the USA.

                                 Okay, the Boston Marathon bombing sucked. Seriously, what a way to end a race? Cross a finish line and watch others get nailed by shrapnel as a bombs go off.

                      Yep, that would bug my day a bit as few things do as hunks of plastic, bb's and recently heated metal fly into my friends limbs, severing veins, muscle, killing sight hitting their retinas...

                   Clouds of white puffs ascend as panic takes dominance. People bolt and run wildly. Running into one another without care.

                  There is blood and death in the field of vision.

                  

                   Crying, hysteria, faces a few seconds ago showing happiness now going toward pained expressions of sorrow, horror and complete terror.

                    Whiffs of lagers, ales and sausage vendors mixing with the scent of total human panic fill the street.

                       And when  silence eventually  becomes victorious, whom do we blame?

                       A factory in Texas blows to pieces, over a hundred missing from an ammonium-nitrate mishap. There is speculation of a dark coloured van near the area just before the explosion.

                       There were four people found dead about 30 miles from my home. They were  all shot in the head at close range in a basement. Drug deal gone bad? Unlikely, those tend to be more messy. Shotguns tend to go that way. Bad blood over a turf war gang related? Not likely. Those are not so pointed. It happened in Akron Ohio. Could ROC, (Russian organized crime, Triads (chinese based, big in Cleveland) Mafia, though incredibly silent in recent times finding other avenues to launder money thru ligit-business.

                     Let's face it: All the serious mob groups hold legitimate ways to cover their cash flow. Be it pizza places, deli's and restaurants that seldom have the same employees over a slender strand of months. (That aspect is their way of filtering others into the USA, under the radar. ) I've seen it in action and it works. These illegals are not nasty people. They do have a debt to work off though to those that got them here. Not so many years ago, I bowled with a Chinese team. I learned a great deal from them. Amazing. Their sense of family is like nothing the average family deluded by media and a sense that having, owning, controlling, is better than all else here in the United States.

                  I have to speak my mind here. I hope you would expect nothing else from me.

                 Let's go bonkers over bonkers over Boston!

                 Let's cover the world with photos of  Americans waiving the stars and stripes for all to see  a to display a solidarity. What for, for crying out loud? The bombers grew up here. They learned, presumably, all their  psychologically meaningful years,  here in the United States. They developed a value system from living here.

                 Apparently, graciously, they must've spent more time reading bathroom wall lore than that of the Anarchist Cookbook or their bombs would have killed more.

                 I have to like the way my countries media jumped at the chance to bring another country into it gather broader audience.

                  Chechnya.

                   As the the first suspect is gunned down, our flag begins to rise and people, most probably drunk after a sporting event, waive them madly. Pride in America songs crash onto the radio stations, calling for us to join together, rally around the stars and stripes and do...

                    -DO JUST FUCKING WHAT? WASTE ANOTHER LAND OF PEOPLE THAT HAD NO CONTROL OVER ANYTHING THAT HAD ANYTHING TO DO WITH THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA!

                    So the Middle East thing didn't pan out so well...

                     Should we aim our drones at North Korea and let them sail? Thank heavens KIA motors saw this coming and embraced the state of Georgia creating American jobs there a few years ago...

                     How many dead in the last twelve years have been created by our hands? How many innocent children never saw age 7 from our bombs and bullets shredding them to bits, leaving them with lost limbs, quadriplegic with nothing more than a mind to grow hatred rightfully toward us?

                  I do not blame the foot soldier. They did as they were trained. Like those dropping the bombs, what choice?

                  "

MOSCOW (Reuters) - The Russian-installed leader of Chechnya criticized U.S. police on Friday for killing an ethnic Chechen suspected of carrying out the Boston Marathon bombing and blamed the violence on his upbringing in the United States.

"The root of evil should be looked for in the United States,"

"They (the brothers) grew up and studied in the United States and their attitudes and belief...s were formed there," Kadyrov said. "Any attempt to make a connection between Chechnya and the Tsarnaevs is in vain."

Kadyrov, a tough pro-Kremlin leader whose security services have been accused of human rights abuses such as kidnappings and torture, questioned why the U.S. police had not been able to arrest Tamerlan Tsarnaev.

"Apparently the special services needed a result by whatever means to appease society," he said.

                  I said on Facebook I believed his words to be true. I stand by it. No one 'liked' it there. Go figure...

                 A few years back, and several before that, I've lived in a place where people get gunned down. Drugs deals gone south, Hookers gone independant, innocents killed due to piss poor aim. Killings in Parma Ohio, where a suspect of Polish sounding last name was taken into custody, was their Polish, Mexican, Puerto Rican, Italian, German, Israeli, Japanese, Chinese, ever brought to the forefront?

                  Chechnya.

                   Of course we did have that guy in Colorado blow away a theatre's worth of people for the opening of a Batman movie...

                Wow! How did we not go after Colorado after that terrorist event? C'mon, we all knew it was coming, didn't we? Didn't Columbine heighten our senses enough?

                 "mommy, I can't feel my arm," a child of five cries out. Her eyes, cloudy by tears her body creates looks at what is left of her tiny arm. Nothing below the elbow, all she sees is muscle and meat...

                  She deserves a better place.
                  Just get up and get away
                  To Mcdonalds.....

                   Oh yeah. Let's make the rest of the World go our way.

                   As I said before, the middle east didn't play out so well.

                    The last thing I want is another killing field for my desperate country to feel good about itself once again.

                     Chechnya.

                     If my country decides to go against you guys, all i can ask is this: Are you accepting new applicants?

          

 Mark William Darus 04222013

                 
                

                  

      

                 

                   

                 

                   

               

                 

                      

54 hour work week and 6 hours to go... "I've missed you," she spoke, her words embrasing me, hands guiding me her body.

             I cannot wait for the time to let my mind run wild once again. So much stored and needing release. So much has happened, rightfully deserving my minds focus and abilities.

            Marathon bombings, Texas explosion leading to more homegrown wastings as four people were found dead in a basement, all shot in the back of the head gangland style.

            It would seem I came back at the right time...

            I glance over my right shoulder.

            She is there, a mere arms length away, smiling peacefully at me.

             "not long away, my lover. It's time for you to close your eyes and be with me for a while." Her voice, so soothing. She reaches for me.

              Til later today, my friends.

Mark William Darus 074202013

           

...and yes, there will be more...

                  Sunrise: Solon Ohio, USA after a twelve hour work day/nite/morn.
                                  
                   I'd like to thank those of you that kept visiting while I was offline. It was an amazing two weeks away.

                   Over the next few days I plan on writing my thoughts on the Boston Marathon bombing, an explosion at Texas, USA factory and some things learned on a road that had no electricity.

                    I hope these photos can hold you til then.

                 

Lakefarm park: Ohio USA

 

 

 

 

 

                                                           

 

 

 

 

I cannot wait to share with you what I've gained in the past two weeks. Two weeks without electricity and heat. Going to a gym after 10-12 hours of manual labor and benefits that arose from that. From a purely physical aspect: I'm developing a six-pack instead of ingesting them. that's pretty cool.

 

Hmm, what of Boston?

 

We'll see.

 

Thank you once again.

 

Mark William Darus 04182013

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                     

Going to be offline for a while. Sorry.

                                 

      I'm going to be offline for a while. I am sorry for this. Recent events will have me unable to post here. That's okay, as other matters are pressing me at this time.
           I wish I could tell you what is going on. All  I can say is I am losing weight at an uncontrollable rate while eating over 9000 calories a day.
           I know I do not have AIDS or HIV.
           My blood work is borderline toward other areas of illness.

            So what?

            Cancer? That would be the likely suspect.

            Let's face it, cancer is boring. It's treatment beyond painful. How many of us hasn't been anti-graced with its tales? Sure, one could argue: no pain No gain. I personally have known of only one miracle of remission, that being a woman named Anne, diagnosed with a year or two to live over 35 years ago. I think it was ovarian cancer, which I guess I can rule out.

            I think I'll take each day as is comes and try to do what I do.

            What is it I do?

             I know where my narcissistic view of myself would point me through the scope of a keen sniper...
              

"you can fight that! Hell, I haven't seen a nut in months..."

              I will continue to take Photographs, make insane observations/connections, and still love pissing people off with what I believe to be the truth.

             Though I have been known to be a craft-beer-drunk, most have known me to be just some asshole that had no clue as to what was appropriate or correct. I'd just say what I thought or do as I did. (in all honesty, well as honest as a pathological liar can be that is.) Sorry, but I always knew when I was being sick, disgusting and seriously blunt with my thoughts. I simply didn't care what you thought at the time. When people thought I was quick witted after something someone said, intelligent even,  I somehow knew where they were going and had a witty retort, remark in place before their final breath left their face. To most, this made me a humerous person to be around. Oddly, I can count the handfuls of laughs that hit me truly funny, and most of them were solidly based in the ironic areas of accidents others tragedies that hit others lives.

            I am an animal. Go figure, we're all animals. The human (Hooman) race is nothing but a grouping of wholes, both small and large, like a Dr Seuss story, of the haves and have nots. Attempting to pack up like a den of wolves, yet failing as self indulgence takes hold derailing it swiftly.

            I'm so very hungry.

           When you stroll into a Speedway wanting either gas, Tornado, or coffee, I'm seeking something else.

            Don't get me wrong: I love my job and my place in life, but I am still very hungry.

            I find it funny as I write this. There is only one person that knows about this hunger and she is so far away from me...

           Know this about Nonviolent Psychopaths: like vampires, their cravings reach a fever pitch, which brings them to hunt. Reaching a point of starvation to numb their desires, diving earthward with eyes and fangs full thrust, aiming.

 

I need space.

          

           

            What I'd like for all of you to learn is this: As long as your mind still works, as long as your eyes still see, ears still hear, skin still feels the kiss of cold or warm air running over it like a lovers touch: FEEL and let yourself FEEL!

            I'll write more when I know more.

Am I breathing underwater...

If you think of me, think of this theme song from the TV show House.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-LVSSa-rQU4

Band: Massive Attack. Vocals by the amazingly gifted Elizabeth Frasier (Cocteau Twins).

 

Mark William Darus 03292013
         



        

Soul Death: Self Inflicted Mind Cancer?

                        Soul Death: Self Inflicted Mind Cancer?
                                      By Mark William Darus.



Samantha played guitar and sang. Her eyes aglow, body writhing rhythmically from the music she alone created. All eyes on her, waiting for more…

Yet for some unknown reason, she stopped, years later, and has never gone back.

Her eyes now more resemble some all-too-captive zoo-cat in a not-too-bad-off cave. Living, yet not alive…

“owwww, this is gonna be great!” Pete says to his friends as the countdown hits ‘0’. As his seriously oversized backyard Estes rocket ascends, it’s precious payload of one pound of pure dog shit onboard, blasts to the sky! When it hit 2000 feet, a huge explosion ensued, vaporizing the craft and its cargo. He laughed as he said: “I told ya I’d make them all shithead, didn’t I?” To those down-wind, this was true.



He now sits and wonders why he is bored as an accountant.



What is Soul Death?

Sure, most of us experience forms of this as we go through our lives, often reaching for tangible gains while our inner voices tell us differently.

On this I ask you, dear readers, what is soul death to you?


Is it the turning away from our passions that create this?

The endless beating down from others and their jealously of a talent they have no clue about?

That at one point in our lives we were open to the infinite, cast off all sense of how those view us and just went for it, balls to the wall, with life and energy?

I believe it is from following things that make no logical sense to anyone but ourselves that we keep ourselves growing and expressing things others wished they could. It is from this we stay young in spirit and continuously learn and grow.

"If you let your mind fall asleep, like water in a still pond, do you not grow stagnent and eventually infected?" -mark w. darus

What are your thoughts? I'd be happy to place them here or not, your choice and please say which. thanks.

Mark William Darus 03262013

Changes and thoughts on Boredom.

         Most of you know I hate change. Sure, I adapt to it faster than most and have been complemented on my ability to do so over the years/decades. (Christ knows during my Progressive Insurance employment I was complemented often as that company had, probably still has, the attention span and focus of a desperately wanting 10 yr old afflicted with ADD, ADHD, DID (dissociative identity disorder), MPD (multiple personality disorder) to possibly complete Schizophrenia in it's desire to reach its immediate wants and desires and a utter lack of memory function in what it wanted a mere few months previous.

        I hate change! Oddly enough, in the last year + some weeks, I am doing nothing but with an ever increasing velocity. I find a freeing of soul in this chaos, a release of spirit and mind as creativity through writing and photography meet head on with my changing bodily form. At age fifty, I find this nothing more than miraculous (sp?). God knows, most of you have said this or something like and at no point did I ever shy-away from it: 'that's Mark for you. He's a bit, uh, different." No truer thing could ever be said about me.

           Well, still changing, I want to turn it up a few notches.

"Waiting in a car
Waiting for a ride in the dark
The night city grows
Look and see her eyes, they glow

Waiting in a car
Waiting for a ride in the dark
Drinking in the lounge
Following the neon signs

Waiting for a roar
Looking at the mutating skyline
The city is my church
It wraps me in the sparkling twilight

Waiting in a car
Waiting for the right time”

M83: midnight city



As some unexpected evolution still keeps hold of me, I believe I am more in touch than I have ever been with the world around me.

Given the hours I work, 4pm to 2am sometimes 4am, I recently placed a personal ad seeking others with similar hours. It would be nice to talk, shop, wander about and share voices and thoughts with another face to face. I’m used to doing things alone, god knows my mind keeps me company enough that I have no clue as to what boring truly is. I guess I am seeking one like myself.

Seriously, I have no inclination in regards to boredom. I know many that have said they were bored and such, yet I don’t understand it.

Is boredom an emotion for you? Does it hurt you physically, mentally, both things?

Is boredom something that cannot be explained or is it your inner workings telling you there is a lack of something in your life you cannot explain out and it nags at you. Is it like some unfulfilled craving for, say, chocolate, when you have no access to it, and with that lack, your desire kicks into overdrive and wanting it more?

Or does it go deeper into your head?

Does boredom occur within you in regards to thinking about yourself, even with your sound efforts for a better life, missing out on some perceived happenings that might grant you happiness?

I know full well of many, when in mated relationships, said they experienced boredom in the company of one that once made them forget about it completely. When I was told this by some, I felt compelled to ask them and usually did: ‘why was your boredom eliminated by them? And over time, why did boredom return to you in their presence? Was it their attention focused on you that diverted your attention away from yourself that made you less bored? Over time, as familiarity breeds contempt, did you eventually blame them for your boredom as that is easier than facing yourself and the very wish of not wanting to address yourself in the first place?

I have never experienced boredom though most of you have, so forgive me as I dig a bit deeper.

You come home from work, school, whatever. You are alone in your dwelling. Perhaps you have a dog or cat to greet you or maybe you are simply met with the gurgling sounds of your refrigerator as it recycles as you flick on the lights. You feed the pets, walk them if needed, maybe thinking of what to feed yourself. You toss off a coat over a chair, couch, and think about dinner. You are alone. There is nothing else before requiring your effort. Is that when boredom sets in? Does it occur when every day becomes the pale clone of the one before it?

If married, with or without children: Get home from work, hug the ‘other’, kiss the kids, if you have them, set dinner into motion as you have for years. Listen to the stories of their day, tuck them into bed, share intimacy with the spouse and do all of this on autopilot. Does this bring about boredom in you? Many have stated this is the reason for affairs, but I think that’s a fucking cop-out.

Let’s face it, people. Boredom can only occur if you let it. Are you so lacking in imagination that you need to either get depressed over it or go chasing another human being to eliminate it to find excitement once again?

I think the sheer concept of boredom is created due to a persons lack in their sense of self. At least most of the people I know are creative in one aspect or another, yet they over years of erosion, turn their backs on that part of their lives. Small wonder they choose to blame others for their boredom. Facing yourself is tough work and in today’s times, we’re all about the easy way. I’m not suggesting they’re shallow or single dimensional, just lacking control over their thought patterns as most do repeatedly.

Have you ever been with a mate or lover on a comfy night laying in their arms nestled under the warmth of a quilt when they ask: “what are you thinking?” and you respond back with, ‘nothing, honey.’

Nothing? Really? You can think nothing. What does that really mean?

Is that an extension of your boredom or simply not wishing to express what is really on your mind?

Think about these things, then take the time to think about yourselves.

 

Mark William Darus 03162013

Just a video. And how many don't feel this way?

                                          Just a video that made an impact on me.

                                      http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9aZFcosBTaQ

                              If we stay open to all around us, wonder and sense a need for change, what makes some move and others stay in place?

                            The Band: M83, the song Midnight City.

                            Are they the 4 percent that are nonviolent psychopaths or the next generation evolving as I have been suggested as being?


                            
                          
                          

On Dead Ears as One Dies: The Recording in real life.

                                   On Dead Ears as One Dies:
                                   An emergency tape released.
                                      by Mark William Darus.

                      911 operator borderline begs the caller, a Nurse, to do something, anything to aide a collapsed 87 year old woman who dies.

                      At the time of occurrence, there was no mention of a DNR ( Do Not Resuscitate order ).

                      I am thankful this blog is being read by many Countries across our shrinking planet. Each of your countries, I am most sure, have different views of human life than apparently we do in the United States in regards to keeping our jobs.

                      I have written about  professional medical psychopathic processes in this blog.  http://psychopathyanotherlife.blogspot.com/2012/05/medical-professional-nonviolent.html  I can find no better example to prove this point than this event.

                      Hey, Earth: Take a great look at us! America will help every country on this planet as a result of earthquakes, floods and any other huge disaster. Yet how do you view us when we fail to help our own because of fear of Insurance companies and lawsuits?
             
http://www.kget.com/mostpopular/story/Dramatic-911-tape-reveals-dispatcher-s-fight-to/g2pqsOnJJUGDHFDtxoK04Q.cspx

                       Having been a dispatcher for over 7 years some time ago, I can totally imagine the frustration the 911 operator felt. She gave every possible out for this nurse, a highly trained life saving professional, to take grasp of to save this woman. All her efforts, extending an olive branch of  hope hitting that of an instantaneous Ice Age when received.

                        My thoughts to this amazing 911 Operator: You did the best you could. KNOW THAT!!! I hope your coming nightmares  don't plague you, haunt you and further hope your coworkers did as mine did when our attempts crashed against legal barriers. You did the same as I would have have, except I think I would have been more profane toward the end of that call. 911 Operator: I bow my head and raise my glass to you. You are a credit to your profession in all respects! Never doubt yourself in the slightest.

                 "I don't understand why you are not willing to help this patient?" she asked...

              Why is it I find more reasons reasons to question the merits of my homeland? Is it because of legal fear that inhibits some of  us from doing the right thing? (i say again: There was NO mention of a DNR during this tape.) Is it because American Corporate policy has become so much a part of our unwritten National Constitution that we simply fall like lemmings for its Handbooks and Guidelines?

               I vividly remember the stories my Grandfather and father told me about the United States, their pride, their beliefs, (though my grandfather knew in the 1970's the Japanese would be the long-time victor of WWII as the bombings Hiroshima and Nagasaki just lead to a battles end.) They both felt a strong sense of union with this place, their homeland and their place in it.

              I don't possibly think my thoughts right now could be further than theirs was back when about America. I have a strong sense of my dead grandparents and mother and father. When I close my eyes, thinking of them in reference to how this country is turning inward,  reaching critical mass, imploding, I think they are praying for my sisters and I. I think they are sending us their strength of conviction. I also think they are crying...

             Authors Note: I may lack the feelings most of you have and carry with you each and everyday of your lives. I may look at school shootings, restaurant slayings, front porch killings and not feel a tug of anything except the desire to write about it and express what I sense about it. This lack of emotion does not mean I do not have an opinion about the world I live in and my tiny hunk of it. I see things differently than you do. I think this is the very thing that would prevent me from doing something so totally wrong as letting someone die as a result of a 'Policy'. Even with such a policy, I would find some fuckin' grey area to circumnavigate it and save someone as well as my own ass.

               I was born a son of America.

               It doesn't mean I will die one of it.

               Other countries have revolutions and have survived much longer than us. We had one civil war. What did that serve? We kept the Union and freed the blacks. Big deal on the black part, ever see the movie Mississippi Burning? What will it take for us to wake up?

                And while I'm asking questions...

                Why did that nurse even bother to call Emergency Rescue in the first place when her companies intentions was to sit back and do nothing?

Mark William Darus 03072013

         

            

             

         
                     




                     

Happy 1st Birthday for Psychopathy: Another Life. My Brainchild.

                                       
                            Happy Birthday: Psychopathy: Another Life.
                                       By Mark William Darus.

　

Where do I begin? How does one describe in words a sense of gratitude for being able to continue something they have always wanted to do and never thought they possessed the ability to do? Whom do I thank for pushing me forward, never letting me stop no matter what obstacles rose before me?

Sure, I could thank the gods of psychopathic psychology: Dr’s Hervey Cleckley and Robert Hare (in all truth, I couldn‘t have started this without reading their works after the Chardon School shooting a year ago.) I could thank my psychiatrist, my closest friends, family and companions though very few of them understood my drive for continually writing about such a dark subject of the human condition and how some seemed concerned about the alleys I‘d venture down for it‘s sake. I could thank my god/higher power though they already know their place in my existence here. I could thank my dogs and cat (the looks they’d give me as I would sometimes cackle, jump up and down and dance around as I wrote each entry.

Music played a large part for me as I wrote these last twelve months. The songs I played while writing varied between each subject I worked on. I guess I could thank the following bands: The Birthday Massacre, Michael Card, Peter Gabriel, Frank Sinatra, Lady Antebellum, Garbage, Amy Grant, Celtic Women, Maire Brennan, Clannad, Enya, Tantric, Cocteau Twins, Elizabeth Frazier, The Icelandic National Anthem, Ukrainian National Anthen, Russian National Anthem, Jimi Hendrix’ American National Anthem, Prince, Wendy and Lisa, and a host of others.

Giving credit where credit is due, there were two songs that I would play at the beginning as I wrote each entry. These two songs put me in the right mode, if you will, to capture my thoughts, flesh them out and create. Todd Rundgren’s Utopia Mr. Triscuits which came from his Another Life live album. It was from that album title the Another Life part of the blog was born from. Yes, I said album as in LP. I have to thank my sister Holly for this: She got me hooked on Todd about the same time I started reading psychology books, also thanks to her great influence. My age: 12.

12?!?! Damn, that was 38 years ago. One year shy of meeting my greatest, longest lasting friend and brother of the purest sense, that not being of shared DNA but of choice, Dave R. This man is truly incredible, indeed. Thick skinned to the hilt. I’ve lost many a friend over the decades by me saying something or acting horrifically inappropriate and them creating distance in its wake. This man, and later his wife and children, never hesitate to take me into their lives with arms wide open. To Dave’s wife Cindy: I’d say I’m sorry for you trusting me with your Video Camera about 10+ years ago to film a childs birthday party. I inverted many minutes of footage, would occasionally spin the cam-corder to spiral the view and generally botch the whole damn thing because I thought it’d be funny, and in that respect, memorable? <yeah, how’s that for a cop-out? J That woman has the patience of Job, I swear she does! If there is such a thing as a souls True North <Northern Star reference for absolute guidance>, it is the R family I can thank for this. During my darkest times, worst living nightmares, doubts, fears and general self destructive behaviors, they never fail to grant me safe harbor. For ironies sake, I don’t think Dave has ever read a word of this Blog, if he has, he never let me know and I‘m okay with that. I know his wife has. In all honesty, I don’t think I have ever experienced more loyalty in this life than what I have known from this family. Undying, unwavering, pure loyalty. As solid as granite and never to be taken for granted by me.

Getting back to the two songs. The second song being Iron Maidens Can I Play With Madness. I had always liked the raw power behind this song and how it always picked me up when I had doubts. Truth be told, this is about the only song I liked by them. I’ve always had the type of mind that liked the fantastic, grossly ironic, and insane. For as long as I can remember, sneaking into hospitals to see my sick father in ICU’s (intensive care units) when they had age restrictions, having a friend at about 14 get chopped in half by a shotgun blast, to finding dead people while working as a delivery person for a drugstore in some of the seediest areas of Westside Cleveland’s early 1980’s CMHA (Cuyahoga Metropolitan Housing Authority) housing projects. I never really had to venture far to find insanity, it had a way of finding me. Over time, applying, working memory of aspects of psychology books read and understood, I developed coping mechanisms to handle virtually anything.

Going back to an earlier time of my sisters and I at my parents house for dinner, we were stressed to the hilt and dealt with it most positively (perhaps a result of one of my dads health issues) : We began to toss plastic cups above our heads and watch them get shot across the kitchen as they hit the moving ceiling fan above us. So absentmindedly they’d ascend from our tensed hands and so quickly they’d blast across the room and crash into the walls.

Wash, rinse and repeat…

Time has a way of marching on…

Sometimes with cups into overhead fans, Chinese Food fights leading to gardens hoses spraying cool summer hose water through a screen window into an open kitchen window. Hose water covering walls, the dog not to mention electrical appliances , my wonderful sisters and I found unique stress breakers, over and over again. One after another, we’d find a ’shut-off valve’ if you will, until we’d laugh ourselves so hard to cry openly at our absurdity. Venting things, frustrations, angers, sadness, emotions we either didn’t have the power, intellect or the skill to vocalize any other way, we had to release them one way or another. Thankfully none of us tortured animals, beat those smaller than us, or became homicidal maniacs. As a family, my sisters and I chose a way that worked for us.
Hell, my sisters and I were pioneers that lead to an area of psychological research that is most huge these days. It’s called: Children of Chronic Illness Environments. We can thank the help of Dr. Gerry Buckley for this. Back in the mid-late seventies, early eighties, an LISW (Lincensed In Social Work) he was so far ahead of the curve. I started with him one on one after my grandfathers death and my reactions to it. (I reversed my life schedule. Slept immediately after school, up all night, avoiding friends. Complete antisocial behavior.) He later believed that if I was so affected by my fathers chronic heart problems, perhaps the rest of the family could be affected as well. Thus becoming a new level of research that started back when. I’m glad I had Gerry in my corner, though the level of trust I found with him did not happen overnight. I was very closed back when, protective. Frightened.
I was 13-14 years old then. I remember getting a full physical exam about a week after my grandfathers burial. He died the first day of Christmas Vacation that year. The results, and I remember the doctors tone of voice, it‘s inflections: “Mr and Mrs Darus, there’s nothing ‘physically’ wrong with him.” And yes, in my young mind, those words echoed as if said loudly in a massive blimp hangover. “NOTHING PHYSICALLY WRONG-WRONGWRONGWRONGWRONG WITH HIM-HIM-HIM WRONG WITH HIM-PHYSICALLY-PHYSICALLY……….”

                  My mother and father chose to tell me their desire for me to talk to a counselor in the Frontier Room of the Glenn Restaurant that was on the corner of Pearl rd and Memphis avenue. I knew too well what that meant after reading psych books. They thought I was nuts, a trolley slightly off the tracks, bonkers, you name it. I still remember what I felt then: Blind fear like that of a cornered animal, losing the battle as my eyes began to weep against my strongest attemps otherwise, wanting to run. Run anywhere as fast as I could to get away from the eyes of the people at the tables around us. Men in dark suits and ties, women in floral dresses with so much hairspray they could deflect bullets.

             They stared at us, their pointed eyes darting from my mother and father and always landing on me like some insect under a microscope. I don’t fault my mom and dad for their place to deliver this message to me, they didn’t know any better and knew I liked this restaurant very much. I cannot imagine what they felt as I disintegrated before their eyes. I still try to place myself in their shoes at that moment in time. <I seem to have a talent to plant myself into the heads of others and gain a sense of what they went through, felt, anguished over, yet to this day, I still fail. I did learn from this and handled things a bit differently with my children during points of concerns I had for them.
                      
                   My sisters and I, over time learned other coping mechanisms.
                    
                      Separately.

                      Occasionally finding god, alcohol, other things to fight for, we developed other arenas to live outside the boundries of madness.  Unlike my sisters, I openly walked toward the insanity. You could say I embraced it like one might a new cultures culinary granduer. An avenue to explore where no hard and fast rules applied.

                  From there, I not only played with madness, I learned from it. After all, it had been my companion for a some time.
The second song:


Can I Play With Madness: Iron Maiden.

Give me the sense to wonder
To wonder if I'm free
Give me a sense of wonder
To know I can believe
Give me the strength to hold my head up
Spit back in their face
Don't need no key to unlock this door
Gonna break down the walls
Break out of this bad place

Can I play with madness - the prophet stared at his crystal ball
Can I play with madness - there's no vision there at all
Can I play with madness - the prophet looked and he laughed at me
Can I play with madness - he said you're blind too blind to see

I screamed aloud to the old man
I said don't lie don't say you don't know
I say you'll pay for (this) mischief
In this world or the next
Oh and then he fixed me with a freezing glance
And the hell fires raged in his eyes
He said do you want to know the truth son
- I'll tell you the truth
Your soul's gonna burn in the lake of fire

Can I play with madness - the prophet stared at his crystal ball
Can I play with madness - there's no vision there at all
Can I play with madness - the prophet looked and he laughed at me
Can I play with madness - he said you're blind too blind to see

Oooh, listen to me, listen the prophet...

Can I play with madness - the prophet stared at his crystal ball
Can I play with madness - there's no vision there at all
Can I play with madness - the prophet looked and he laughed at me
Can I play with madness - he said you're blind too blind to see

Can I play with madness

Iron Maiden.

　

I started this blog on Saturday March third 2012 at about 10:20 AM. I was employed by Progressive Insurance.

I have found myself when I started this and continue to learn more and more each and every day.

I have to thank all of you that have read Psychopathy: Another Life; to those of you that have sent contributions/life stories for submission for the benefit of others to learn from.

I humbly thank the people representing 70 plus Countries that have visited and read this blog repeatedly. I can find no words to express my gratitude for you taking the time to read my thoughts…
For those that likes Statistics:

Currently 15,800 reads/visits.
7,127 hits from the USA. Combined from Ukraine, Russia, Czech Republic: 5,249.
Smallest country reached: Malta with 195 hits.
Quickest country visiting: Spain nailing 1,100 hits in less than two months.
Most read Post: The Closing of Last Year. Published Jan 3 2013 with over 1,400 reads.
Least read: Abigails Story. Published 3/10/2012 with 51 reads.
Most commented on via emails: Where’s my fuckin’ pliers? Published 03/19/2012. I received over 3700 emails in reference to this entry.

I wish to thank every single one of you that is reading this. It is my sincere hope you can find something of value in my words and experiences as well as those from others shared here. It was my pleasure, anguish, sufferings and drive to place this out there.
Thank you for an amazing year!

Mark William Darus 02282013